Towards the Skies
by QuietCacophony
Summary: In the silence of the dying night, Jean and Armin can only find comfort in each other. Based on the song "Bird" by Yuya Matsushita


_We, like the flowers and the trees, are pitiful, _  
_for we can only extend upward towards the sky. _  
_We realize this when we look down once in a while, _  
_but then again we look back up._

**.**

In the silence of the dying night, Jean cannot find the peace of sleep. It slips past his eyelids, frail and wispy, and no matter how hard to tries to reach it again, it remains far from his grasp. The skies outside are a rich, dark indigo, yet the lantern in the middle of the cabin stays lit, basking the surrounding areas in a flickering yellow glow.

Weary eyes cast their gaze down to the figure beside him - and how he had gotten there again was a memory that refused to resurface his mind right now. Armin is fast asleep, something that Jean finds so enviable at the moment, because right now he cannot find an escape from the terror that morning will bring.

Even for a small while, sleep was the most painless escape in a world like this.

It makes him forget, it carries him to vivid memories of before and memories of now, it is a world where humanity is free. It is where the walls do not serve the purpose they do now - though no matter how hard he tries, he cannot envision anywhere without the walls, so they stay there. But this time, they do not shut in people from the dangers of the outside world. They are not humanity's last hope, because there is nothing to hope for and they do not live in fear.

A soft rustling of thin sheets brings him back to the present. Armin twitches, his eyebrows furrowing in sleep, and his hand digs tightly into the limp pillow that supports his head. "Nnnh..."

And it reminds him that escape isn't always for the better. Sometimes they try, but fail. Jean has had his share of nightmares - for who doesn't? Who has joined the Survey Corps, or the Military Police or the Garrison, and has lived their life from that point on with nights devoid of horrifying visions and past memories?

In fact, who has lived in this world and has not once forced themselves to get through a sleepless night plagued with blood and death?

**.**

_You look so sad in your sleep, _  
_as if you are having a nightmare. _  
_I'm right here, right by your side, _  
_and I'm not going anywhere anymore. _  
_How do I live without you?_

_**.**_

"Sssh," Jean murmurs, shifting so that he lies on his side and faces the smaller boy. Even after more than five years, the day it happened was still fresh in his mind. He brushes back the other's hair with such gentleness, as if Amin would dissipate under the slightest touch and leave him alone and cold.

And Jean is so tired of being left.

Armin begins to shiver, slowly doubling over and curling into a ball. "N-no...!" The word is choked with terror, and followed by a broken whimper of his friend's name - "Eren!"

Jean holds him by the shoulder and shakes him; if sleep is an escape that goes wrong, its escape is waking up. He knows the relief of sleep and the relief of waking up, and it is an effective reminder of what life really is. "Armin. Armin, wake up." He almost sighs as the other boy wakes, slowly, shakily, and opens his eyes. Hot tears streak down his pale face immediately, freed of their prison behind closed lids.

He gathers Armin into his arms, allowing the other boy to rest against him. He feels the front of his shirt dapple with warm tears, and begins to stroke through Armin's hair, smoothing out tangles gently. Armin's shoulders relax as he feels Jean's lips lightly press to his temples, whispering words of apology and comfort; useless as they seem - "It was only a nightmare" and "You're safe here" - because Armin is no fool.

When the trembling subsides, gradually, all Armin can do is lie limply against Jean, his hands releasing their grip upon his sleeves and sliding down onto the rumpled threadbare blankets. His breathing is the only sound in the still room, and everyone else is far from waking up.

"I...sorry," he whispers into Jean's chest, untangles himself slowly from the other, and casts his eyes down.

.

_Everyone__looks__at__the__sky_  
_They__look__up__, __and__again__look__back__ down_  
_and__ they __lament__because__they__are__ unable_  
_to__find__ that __blue__sky__they__once__saw__in__the__ past._

_Switching__between__being__free__and__being__selfish_  
_We__have__lived__this__far_  
_Under__this__ night sky __with__out even __a__single__star_  
_Unable__to__see__my__destination__, I __simply__wander__ about_

_._

Jean can only remember days of years ago; a life that seemed like one that is not his own, a reality that stretched between now and then, between the relative safety of the confines that are the walls and the delicate freedom outside it.

It was when the single reason he had for joining the Corps was the paradoxical goal to reach the top ranks, and live his life in the luxury that only the people of the Military Police possessed. To most, it was a goal for the selfish. To him, long ago, it was a goal for the sane and truthful.

Now, he only knew it was a goal for people who were all three - every person had the right to value their lives and there was nothing wrong with that.

He remembers words spoken with confidence, with a careless decisiveness, a decision controlled by sheer ignorance and at the same time, a common sense to want to survive; "We're going to join the Military Police." The truth is that it had never been for the sake of looking cool or giving in to peer pressure. It had been simply for the sake of his own safety.

It had still been his decision upon enlisting, along with Marco. Both of them, aiming for the top ranks. It was an idiotic idea, as Annie had said once, with a look of complete derision behind her silent façade. The people who stood out among the rest, the ones with the ability to help humanity more than the others were the ones who were given the opportunity to live safer than the others. And more often than not, they took it.

He had it.

It was right in front of him; a choice that would ensure safety behind the innermost wall, out of reach. He had made it and he would have what he had always wanted.

But as he looked upon the blazing fire that ate up what was left of his comrades, looked down at the mutilated corpse of Marco on a ruined street in his hometown, he realized that he had to do something. He would not allow the sacrifices of others to go forgotten as he lazed around inside the walls. He was better than that.

And now, he had given up any hope of living his life, and the last vestiges of hope he had were drained away in his first battle. And he didn't know if he regretted it or not.

.

_There__hasn't__been__anything__scary__for__me__at__all_  
_Just__that__there__was__ nothing __to__protect_  
_Be__it__tomorrow__or__ten__years__from__now__ on_  
_I'm__scared__of__what__will__happen__then_  
_I__need__hugging__, __my__ sweetheart_  
_._

Jean had learned long ago that in some nights, Armin couldn't find his way back to the comfort of sleep once released from its grasp. And so they bide their time by talking; talking of nothing, of trivial things, because neither of them want to talk about what is at stake.

Sometimes it is okay to be ignorant, even for a small while.

"...and people used to travel the whole world in ships. Boats, but far bigger - I've seen an old illustration, and...and it was beautiful."

Now they have made themselves a nest of him sheets on Jean's bed, and he lays back, burying his nose into Armin's hair - it smells like old parchment and other comforting things, and he files this into the crevices of the maze that is his mind - and does not protest when their hands seemingly move on their own to intertwine with each other.

"That version of the outside world sounds better than the one we see right now."

Armin stills, breathing out a sigh, and gently rests his forehead against the curve of Jean's neck. It was an unlikely scene for anyone else, but for them, in the dark of early morning and the quiet buzz of snores in the background, it feels like the normal thing to do.

"I know," he whispers, almost inaudibly. "I knew it was coming, but I guess I couldn't help feeling disappointed." Jean's breath catches in his throat when he feels the other's damp eyelashes flutter against his skin, as light and delicate as a brush of butterfly wings.

"But I've always loved what I read in books...imagine it, Jean. Imagine just following the sun, imagine endless land and sea and sky - and all the stars up there. Imagine the outside world outside this nightmare."

And they have. Everyone has.

"It sounds beautiful." Because even though Armin is far too intelligent for such simple praise, Jean does not know how else to incorporate his feelings into other words. He does not know what else to say at the moment, to a boy who spoke with so much passion in such a world that lacked so much.

To reach towards the skies, with all the ease and grace of even the most common bird, and fly towards the horizon.

.

_Everyone__weeps__at__the__ sky_  
_They__reach__out__their__hands__, and __start__dreaming_  
_And__they__will__forever__protect_  
_The __blue__sky__they__once__saw__in__the__past_

_Although__there__are__figures__soaring__in__the__sky_  
_I__no__longer__yearn__for__that__kind__of__ freedom_  
_Nobody__is__truly__free__, __that__is__not__ true freedom_  
_Simply__, __there__are__no__roads__in__the__ sky_

_._

Sometimes, there were people who didn't know if they cared anymore. Others truly didn't; who had lost all emotion and hope for salvation long ago. Others merely lost their minds, driven by complete and utter terror. Those in the Military Police, even before the walls had been breached for the first time in a century, on that fateful day years ago - they had wasted themselves on spending their waking hours sated with alcohol.

How much more could an ordinary soldier take?

And yet here they were - not in the worst conditions, as at as he knows, but maybe it is only because whoever is in charge of this has enough decency not to make their lives more of a miserable hellhole as it already is. But no matter what, they are still on the brink of their lives. Chances of humanity surviving were about as thin as the chances in an expedition.

They are far too young to have seen this much.

In fact, no one should ever see this much.

It was unfair - to watch everyone around you die at the hands of your realest fears, to come home to the unenthusiastic stares and whispers of detest of the people who await their return, to watch as one family member - be it a parent, a wife or a child - crumple to their knees upon the realisation of the news that can so easily be delivered by a blank stare. "We are sorry" are empty words. No amount of praise can truly bring a person back, though there are some who ask, desperately, if their loved one had helped, even if only in the slightest, to bring salvation.

At this point of time, the conversation trickles into a halt, reducing itself into simple, monosyllabic responses and noncommittal hums - yet neither try to keep it alive, try to drive away all worries.

Jean wishes he can say that Armin's presence is enough, but that would be a partial lie. He swallows thickly, again submitting to the ringing silence and brushing through Armin's soft hair - out of habit or the want of comfort, he wasn't sure - and watches as a flock of birds made their way out across the now lighter skies - How long have they been up now?

Birds. How so many envied them, with their ability to stay out of reach whenever they wanted to, circling overhead without knowledge of how truly blessed they are. Jean wonders what such thing humans have done to deserve this.

"Don't you wonder why they don't leave?" Jean murmurs, hoping to set alight another spark in their talk. "It's stupid, I know, but I hate it so much I used to think they liked watching...it still angers me now." He inhales sharply, and feels Armin squeeze his hand, so gently that it is almost imperceptible. "They can leave - fly to the outside world, anywhere - and yet they don't." _How__can__anything__take__such__mercy__for__granted__?_

_._

_This__midair__space__, __otherwise__known__as__you_  
_Oh__, __please__lock__me__in_  
_I'm__not__going__anywhere__ anymore_  
_Please__don't__ go __anywhere__anymore_

_._

Being left is a feeling that Jean despises.

To be neglected, forgotten - maybe he hasn't quite felt the magnitude of that kind of abandonment. But simply being left alone - he knows that well.

He has never been one to push others away in fear of losing a loved one, though neither does he befriend everyone he meets. If he considered the person a confidant, an ally, a friend, then so be it. Marco had been his best friend, had come and went in the most gruesome way possible. Nothing compared to the crushing desperation, the emptiness he had felt after it. He never wanted to lose anyone again.

That in itself was a futile wish. Everyday, people around him died. Everyone always had someone to lose; he had already lost his family, and Marco, and so many more friends. And now...

"Armin."

"Yes?"

"Don't ever leave me. Please."

It sounds horrible, and clingy, and desperate, but until that moment he has never asked anyone for anything he wanted more. To ask of that to someone like Armin, so intelligent and mature, it sounds like the plead of a young child to a parent. But here, with only the two of them in the world and the rest of the cabin forgotten, beyond the chaos of expeditions and missions, it doesn't sound at all wrong.

Armin sighs. "I wish I could say I won't, Jean." He removes his head from its home in the curve of the other's neck, propping himself on an elbow, and looks up straight into Jean's eyes with a seriousness and sadness that makes his heart sink. "But you know I can't."

"I know."

Armin casts his eyes down, shifting to make himself sit up on the mess hat is Jean's bed, his knees tucked under him.

Jean doesn't know what compels him to do it, but slowly, gently, he leans in to press his lips against the other's, and his hand brings itself upon the base of Armin's neck, both reveling the warmth that tingles down their spines and to their stomachs like honey. He feels Armin tremble against him, suppressing what may have been a potential sob from escaping his lips, and pulls away apologetically. " 'm sorry," he whispers once again, and Armin almost has to strain his ears to hear.

There silence, but it is not of tension or awkwardness - it is the kind that you allow to sink in, and both of them welcome it It is broken by the rustle of sheets somewhere across the room, a silent groan somewhere else; reminders that dawn is approaching and they cannot live in their world forever.

Their somewhere else can only exist in their minds, built upon a foundation of hopes and dreams, and never in the vast bleakness that is the terror of waking reality.

And they do nothing but watch as the sky streaks with clouds of gold and orange and pink, and as the first pale rays of dawn cast themselves upon the wooden floors, heralding the arrival of another day.

_._

_In__the__middle__of__the__ sky_  
_Everyone__ is __locked__in__this__cage__ called __freedom_  
_All__I__need__is__you__by__my__side_  
_And__then__in__this__sky__I'll__have __no__more__need__for__wings__._


End file.
